Holidays Revisited
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Booth, Brennan and Max reminisce about Thanksgivings past as they cook the feast for this year.
1. Chapter 1

Holidays Revisited

 _A/N: Since I've not written anything recently, I thought I'd give ecv an early holiday installment on her Secret Santa fic with a slight variation on one of her wish requests. In this scenario, Max, Brennan, and Booth discuss holidays past as they prepare for the current one._

Max sat on a stool at the kitchen counter beside a mound of Idaho spuds, a paring knife in hand, with a trash can at his feet into which a curl of brown potato peel was spiraling, to the amusement of Mitt, Christine's ragdoll kitten. She'd originally named her pet Mittens, but once she started T-ball that spring, and Booth told her the kitten was male, father and daughter decided a baseball moniker was more suitable for the new feline family member.

"Okay, Tempe, that's the last one. They're chopped up small to boil faster. Ought to be ready to mash in 15 minutes. With butter and sour cream, Mmmm, Mmmmm! One of my Thanksgiving favorites."

"It never ceases to amaze me that you and Booth can peel potatoes so cleanly with a plain knife. That's one culinary skill I've never mastered. I get much better results and far less waste by using a vegetable peeler," Brennan commented.

"It comes from being in the Army, honey. If there's one thing basic training teaches you besides how to march and make up a tight bunk, it's how to skin a spud! I must've peeled at least a ton of potatoes at Ft. Leonard Wood," Max chuckled.

"Me, too," Booth agreed. "The only advantage I had going into basic was that Pops insisted Jared and I learn how properly to peel a potato. Grams used it as detention when we got too mouthy with her, especially Jared. Since we didn't get an allowance, peeling veggies was a good alternative penalty to a dollar jar for us cussin' and smartin' off, as she called it."

Christine came into the kitchen for another handful of silverware. She had on one of Brennan's aprons, its ties wrapped twice around her middle.

"Granpa Max, what was Mommy's favorite pie when she was little?" she asked.

"Ah, Sweetheart, your momma liked chocolate mousse pie the best. She loved it mounded with whipped cream and shaved chocolate. She contended Hershey's bars made the best topping, and loved to shave it into strips with a peeler."

"Not apple crisp, like me and Daddy like?"

"Nope, not a chance of Tempe eating any fruit pie! She came into the world disliking cooked fruit. Didn't even like pureed fruit as a baby. We'd open a jar of baby fruit, and your mother would just roll it right back out with her little tongue, the minute the spoon hit her mouth. Now your Uncle Russ, he was a different story. Never met a fruit he didn't like. Pureed, raw, cooked, baked, dessert, baby food; didn't matter, he'd eat them all."

"Your mom liked her veggies back then, any kind. But forget cooked fruit! As I said, she was born detesting the stuff, I guess."

Brennan smiled at her father. "I remember that," she mused.

"Your Grammy Christine made the best chocolate pies and puddings in the world. Smooth as silk, melted in your mouth; sooo good!" she told her daughter.

"I guess I love chocolate mousse as much as your daddy likes my nutmeg mac and cheese. I'll have to make some for you over the weekend. But for now, Missy, we've got to get Thanksgiving dinner on the table. Where are those paper napkin rings you made in school? Did you get them out of your backpack? Roll up those gold napkins and slide them through the rings, then put the turkeys at the boys' places and the autumn leaves by the girls' plates."

"Grams made the best pies on the planet," Booth declared. "Didn't matter what variety; strawberry rhubarb, sour cream raisin, cherry, pumpkin; you name it. Her pie crust was the best I've ever tasted. Never got soggy; just stayed light and slightly crispy. Ah, what memories!"

"What else did you do on Thanksgiving besides eat pie, Daddy?" Christine asked.

"We'd get up and watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on television, then eat, then play football in the yard until the games came on. Then we watched the Eagles beat whoever they were playing."

"I remember the first time I saw that parade in color. Pops and Grams had a black and white television set. All those floats were a lot more impressive in color. My favorite was the huge Snoopy balloon. He was one that didn't change so much, since he was already white with black ears!"

"Bones, what did you do on Thanksgiving after you were too stuffed to move?" he asked his wife.

Brennan pushed her hair behind her ear with one flour-covered hand. She rinsed her hands, dried them, and continued rolling out the last pie crust before laying it carefully over the expanse of cherries in her favorite Pfaltzgraff pie plate. After pinching the edges to crimp them shut, she called to her daughter, and handed her a fork.

"Okay, your turn, honey. Go for it!"

Christine grasped the fork and thrust it downward like King Arthur reversing his sword pull from the stone. She poked several holes in the pie crust as her mother had taught her, forming a star pattern in the middle of the pie.

Donning an oven mitt, she opened the top oven door and placed the pie on the rack, then turned to the little girl.

"After the Macy's parade, Russ and I would go outside, and rake up the leaves. Dad always promised us a nickel a bag, but we had so much fun jumping into the piles we created, I don't recall ever making any money from that chore."

"You never accomplished anything; never filled one bag! Just raked and jumped; raked and jumped, over and over. We had to undress you in the hallway to shake all the leaves out of your clothes before we took you two upstairs for a bath." Max recalled.

Once we dried the dishes, we took a walk around our neighborhood and crunched as many leaves as loudly as possible. Then in the evening, we drove to a shopping center nearby for their 'Lights On' ceremony. They had school choirs singing carols for twenty minutes, then turned on the Christmas lights. Every tree in the complex was strung with dozens of tiny white lights. When they came on suddenly, the effect was magical, at least to a little girl like me. They looked like little stars."

Booth came up behind her, kissed her gently, and wiped away the single tear that threatened to spill down her cheek.

"How I wish she was still here, Booth," she murmured so only he heard. "I miss my mother."

Max sighed, glancing sadly at Booth as he gazed at his daughter over her shoulder.

A cry sounded from the baby monitor sitting on the counter.

"Sounds like someone's ready to eat some turkey, mostly by proxy," Booth chuckled. "I'll go get our little man and we'll be ready to eat."

"His Eagles jogging suit is laid out on the changing table," Brennan called up the stairs. That cherry pie will be done and cooled as we finish eating. It'll be a perfect temperature for melting the ice cream. Wash your hands and then climb up in your seat, Christine. You did a perfect job on the silverware, honey."

Booth descended the stairway with a chattering Hank in his arms. "This little guy is ready for chow, and a kiss from his mom."

He raised the baby high over his head, and swooped him down to buss Brennan on the cheek. Little Hank giggled, and grabbed his mother's pony tail. She kissed his cheek with a raspberry sound, as Booth settled him into the highchair.

Once the family was settled in their placed, Booth looked over at Max. "You wanna do the honors?"

"Sure, Booth, glad to."

Brennan rolled her eyes, but said nothing as her family folded their hands.

"We're thankful for being together, and having everyone safe and healthy," Max intoned.

"I'm blessed by the love of Bones, my kids, and Max," Booth declared.

God bless Mitt and Hank, Mommy and Daddy, Terrence Turtle, all this food, and my friends," Christine recited.

Max took over again, as his daughter gave him a smirk of forebearance.

"And since short and sweet is always best; Good bread, good meat, Good God, let's eat!"

Booth grinned at his father-in-law. "Dig in, everyone! Happy Thanksgiving!"

An hour later, everyone was satiated or stuffed, and Hank was merrily covered with mashed potatoes and gravy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Christmas Reminiscing

The Christmas season had arrived in Washington DC this year adorned with the sparkle of snowflakes, but punctuated by blasts of bitter Arctic air. Booth and Brennan had planned to take Christine and Hank to the Rockville Winter Holiday parade as well as the more elaborate one staged by the capital city, but when the day arrived, DC's frigid temperatures made them reconsider. It looked like they would be spending this Saturday indoors.

No matter how many layers of scarves, mittens, sweaters, down jackets, and wooly hats they donned each morning, the wind bit right through their clothing. By the time they got Hank bundled up, it was difficult to buckle him into his car seat. The straps strained to envelope their little boy, who resembled Ralphie's little brother of "You'll shoot your eye out" fame. When going outside, Christine was likewise encased in so many layers of warmth her father teased her that she looked like the Michelin Man. This gentle joke was met by her mother's trademark response, which their daughter also used, "I don't understand what that means." Booth chuckled, "He's a cartoon character made from stacks of tires, honey, so he's really pudgy." Christine was not amused, and rolled her eyes.

As he stirred chocolate chips into the bowl of pancake batter, Booth reflected silently that his precocious daughter was doing this much earlier than Parker had, and wondered what emotional travails he would suffer when Christine reached her teen years. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the front door. The children ran to peer through the curtains and squealed with glee, "Grandpa Max!"

Their jovial grandfather came inside and tucked his gloved hands under his arms. "That's not helping me warm up one bit," he complained. "It is just plain brutal out there; did they move Washington to the state of Alaska and forget to tell me?"

"Nah, Max, it's just bone-chilling out there," Booth commiserated.

His wife came into the kitchen, and gave Booth his second eye-roll of the morning. "Booth, that expression is completely inaccurate. The ambient temperature has no effect upon human bones, unless they are exposed to the elements."

"Ix-nay on the skeletal talk, Bones, I'm fixing breakfast. Please don't spoil my appetite with squint speak; I've been craving these pancakes all week!"

Max intervened. "So what time are we leaving for the pa-?"

Brennan scowled at her father, and spoke quickly. "Dad, we've had a change of plans. We're going to let the kids decorate gingerbread houses after breakfast, like Mom and I used to do."

His eyes becoming misty, Max sighed, "Oh, Tempe, what a great idea. Maybe my talented grandchildren can build a gingerbread house and keep the icing confined to the kitchen table. You and Russ managed to drip dark green and bright red icing on the floor several years in a row. He wasn't very careful, but you were so eager to help, your mom let you try when you were really too young to have sufficiently developed motor skills. But nevertheless, what you lacked in hand-eye coordination, you made up for with enthusiasm! You were willing to try anything, not just once but over and over until you got the hang of it."

Booth laid aside his spatula, engulfed his wife in a bear hug, and kissed her soundly. "One of my Gram's favorite admonitions was 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.' If I had a nickel for every time she repeated that to Jared or me, I'd be a wealthy man! From the determination I've witness in Bones, her persistently practicing any skill until she mastered it doesn't surprise me at all."

"Gram let us help her decorate cookies with frosting at Christmas, but after our first attempt, she never gave us dark icing colors again. She _drastically_ reduced the amount of food coloring she added to the icing, so that we used pale green, nearly pink, white, and other pastel colored frosting. The first year we came to live with her and Pops, we spilled so much bright red and green icing on her white formica kitchen table, it was never the same; had colored blotches here and there, no matter how many times she tried to bleach it white again! The cookies tasted just as good in the lighter colors, but they didn't make a splash, or statement. Too pale for my taste! But they were delicious; nearly melted in your mouth from all the real butter she used in her recipe." He paused and grew quiet, remembering.

Christine had been listening quietly to their conversation. "Mommy made gingerbread houses? Is that what we're gonna do today? I _love_ putting the jelly beans along the roof! My teacher helped us make graham cra—" Suddenly, her eyes went wide as she stopped speaking mid-sentence and clapped both hands firmly over her mouth. She pivoted sharply, running out of the room and up the stairs.

Brennan stared after her in confusion.

"What do you suppose got into our Chrissy?" Booth wondered aloud. Max gave them both a wry smile, and assured the pair he could determine what had upset the little girl. He laid down the handful of silverware he'd been placing on the table and quietly followed his favorite six year old up to her bedroom. He found Christine flumped across her bed, face buried in the Elsa pillowcase, thin shoulders shaking.

"Hey, Cupcake, whatsa matter with my baby girl?" Max asked softly, bending over to rub her back as he took a seat beside her on the sparkly blue comforter.

"Oh, Gran-ppa, I r-r-r-ruined it!" she stuttered between sobs.

"What did you ruin, honey?"

"The surprise! My Christmas gift for Mommy and Daddy! Now they'll know what I'm giving them!" and she began to cry even harder.

"Sugar Plum, you listen to me. Your momma and daddy are so busy remembering their own childhood, I bet they didn't even catch your remark! They'll be surprised as can be on Christmas morning, just you wait and see!" Max reassured his little granddaughter. You know how sometimes your mom and dad get to dress up in costumes at work? Well, that's what you've gotta do now. Paste a big smile on that pretty face of yours, pretend everything is A-OK, and let's go build us a gingerbread house! Yours from school will look completely different from the one we make here at home. The way your teacher has guided you to make your graham cracker house for Mommy and Daddy will have a unique appearance. You'll be able to tell them two of them apart from miles away, I promise you! And I know your parents will love them both. So would your granma if she was here to see them. Now run to the bathroom, dry your eyes, wash your face and hands, and let's go make a gingerbread town, okay? Whatcha say?"

"Okay, Granpa, thanks! You made me feel a lot better," Christine hugged him tightly, trotted out of her room, and turned on the faucet.

Still sitting on Elsa's sparkly skirt, Max continued talking, this time to himself. "Maybe she will see them both! Who knows? Ruthie, you up there? Calm this little girl of ours down, you hear? Make her all happy bubbly again! You'll love our babies, Ruth, both of them. They each look just like you in one way or another. Just looking at the little rascals makes me miss you all the more, girlie! I wish you could see them in person and hug 'em. There's no replacement for a Gramma's hug, or a grandkid's hug either, for that matter."

Christine reappeared in her doorway, smiling this time, and held out her hand. "Come on, Granpa, we've got lots to do before lunch, don't we?"


End file.
